


I Couldn't Say

by SassySnowperson (DramaticEntrance)



Series: Merrick/Draven [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Painkillers, Slice of Life, Subtle affection, The Emotionally Stunted Spymaster, The Hotshot That Likes Him Anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 14:40:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12961560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DramaticEntrance/pseuds/SassySnowperson
Summary: Antoc Merrick is the textbook example of an idealist. Davits Draven does not have time for that sort of golden thinking.Just gets people killed.“Dav!” Merrick’s stupid grin lit up his face. He untangled one hand from the bedspread, stark white sheet putting up a fight.Draven folded his arms, refusing to reach for the hand that was reaching toward him. “You have three broken ribs, General.”





	I Couldn't Say

“Dav!” Merrick’s stupid grin lit up his face. He untangled one hand from the bedspread, stark white sheet putting up a fight.

Draven folded his arms, refusing to reach for the hand that was reaching toward him. “You have three broken ribs, General.”

“Only three? Felt more like six.” Merrick gave up on reaching out and poked at his own chest, still smiling cheerfully over at Draven. 

Likely because the idiot was high on painkillers.

“That was a stupid risk. You deliberately endangered both yourself and Rebellion property.”

Merrick looked inordinately pleased with himself. “You're not my commanding officer, Dav.” 

“Yes, well, your commanding officer is off in the middle of God-knows-where, and somebody needs to talk some sense into you.” Draven glowered down at the incorrigible figure in the bed.

“Aw, you do care.”

“I do not.” Draven looked off to the side, then back to Merrick. “Blue Eight is fine, by the way. Your idiotic stunt saved him.”

Merrick relaxed at that, leaning back against the bed. “Good.” His eye twinkled as he spread his hands, gesturing over at Draven. “Witness, the Rebellion Spymaster’s stone heart!” 

“You keep taking risks like this, one of them is going to be your last,” Draven growled, rather than respond.

Merrick finally stopped smiling, laying his hands down and looking over at Draven with a tiny shrug. “Comes with the territory. This one wasn't.”

Draven’s stomach spasmed. His expression didn’t change. “Reckless idiot. I won't mourn you.”

“I figured.” Merrick's smile was knowing. “Hope I die first, then. Losing you would wreck me, Dav.”

Draven’s face went blank and he stiffened, leaning a little away from the bed. He didn't know what to say to that. 

There was a hiss of a door opening, and a soft cough from behind them. 

“Cor!” Merrick’s too-insightful smile was gone, lapsed back to dopey glee. 

Merrick’s serious second-in-command gave a short nod to Draven and flicked an assessing eye over Merrick’s prone form. “You've got some pilots wondering if you're up for visitors.”

“Send 'em in!” Merrick attempted an enthusiastic gesture, but aborted halfway through, wincing. 

As the pilots poured in through the door, Draven said, “I'll leave you to your adoring fans, then. Do be more careful with Rebellion property in the future, General.”

He didn't bother wondering if Merrick watched him go.

* * *

Draven keyed in the door code and the door slid open. He blinked, eyes adjusting to the dark room. From somewhere near the direction of the bed came, “You could have knocked.”

The drug-injected happiness was gone from Merrick's voice. It was thinned out, now, and Draven could hear the hiss on Merrick’s inhale. 

“Could have. I have the code, though.”

“The code I didn’t”—Merrick paused to take a too-deliberate breath—“give you.” 

“I have my ways.” Draven picked his way over to the bed in the dark. “Which is how I know you discharged from medical without any pain medications.” 

“Don’t know if you noticed,” Merrick grunted, his form shifting in the bed, “I get a little dumb on painkillers.”

Draven chuckled. “I don’t hold it against you.” 

Merrick grunted, and it wasn’t entirely a noise of pain. “That’s a load of crap. You hold everything against everyone, Dav. Might not do anything about it, but it’s there, filed away in your brain. Exhibit 12C: losing me would wreck Merrick, per Merrick’s verbal admission while under the influence of pain pills.” 

Draven went silent at that. His eyes had finally adjusted enough to the room that he could see the thin sheen of sweat on Merrick’s forehead, the grimace in his face. He sat down as close to the edge of the bed as he could, trying not to disturb the man in it. 

As he settled, Merrick’s hand reached for him again. This time Draven opened up his own hand, tangling fingers up with Merrick’s. The pleased turn at the corner of Merrick’s mouth brought him more contentment than he cared to admit. 

“I don’t take anything you say while off your tits on drugs all that seriously,” Draven said, even as he knew it was a lie. 

That’s the thing, about them. He lied, Merrick didn’t. 

Merrick raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Nice of you to say.” 

That’s the other thing, about them. Sometimes Merrick knew what he meant anyway.

Draven spared a moment to wish he were someone else, someone who could say something generous in return, something reassuring, something vulnerable. But those sorts of words were locked away too tightly in his chest. He had lived too long not saying what he meant. 

Maybe Merrick understood that too. Maybe he didn’t. 

“You need sleep to heal, and you’re not going to sleep if you’re in pain. I picked up your meds.” 

Merrick’s hand squeezed his. “Taking care of me. If you don’t watch yourself, General, I might think you liked me.” 

“I just know that if I leave you to your own devices you’re going to take three times as long to heal and we can’t afford to have you benched that long,” Draven grumbled.

“I like you too.”

Draven didn't bother responding to that, just brushed a kiss against the backs of Merrick's fingers.

Merrick smiled at that, “Stay?” 

“That’s a bad idea.” 

“I’ll actually take my drugs if you do.” 

“I could just drug you anyway.” 

“Please?” In the dark of the room, Merrick’s blue eyes were a washed-out grey; there wasn’t enough light for them to twinkle. It shouldn’t have been as convincing as it was. 

“Fine.” 

After Draven supervised Merrick dutifully swallowing the small white pills, Merrick carefully scooted back along the bed, making room for him. Draven slid off his boots and settled in, reaching forward and running a hand along Merrick’s outer arm. He kept the touch gentle, careful of the ribs, and Merrick relaxed into it, nearly purring as the pain meds took hold again. 

Merrick’s eyes slowly drifted shut, but before his breathing evened out, he slid one eye open again. “Dav?” 

“Hm?”

“I want three hours before you sneak out of here again.” 

“I wasn’t going to—” Draven lied. 

“Three hours.” Merrick’s eyes slid shut again. 

“Okay.”

Three hours later Draven placed a soft kiss against Merrick's forehead, fastened his boots, and left.

**Author's Note:**

> My muse grabbed me and refused to let go. Muse. I had other things to work on. Stop...stop this... 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the product of the momentary hijacking of my creativity! I'm a sucker for the pragmatist/idealist dynamic between the two of them. I'd like to poke at their dynamic more in-depth, but this came out pretty much fully formed. It was both easy to write and and hard to get right. The two of them are very subtle. And on the other hand, not subtle at all.
> 
> [I’m on Tumblr,](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sassysnowperson) if you'd like to come chat. :)


End file.
